


When The Wolfbane Blooms

by Zai42



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Monsters, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating will change, Werewolf Hunters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:05:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27320149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: Sometimes the gods touch their chosen, give them gifts, marks of their blessings and ownership.More often than not, this causes trouble.
Relationships: Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam & Eva van Dijk, Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam & Sasha Racket, Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam/Oscar Wilde, Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam/Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 49
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AHAHAHA, trick or treat! One last Halloween present for you all!

The cults did what they could do obey the restrictions placed upon them. It was better, safer, to concede ground, when the alternative was destruction, the striking of their church from the face of history.

The gods, on the other hand.

Every cult knew that their god was capricious, unbound by mortal laws, and had protocols in place - secret plans to put in action, should one of their own be touched in a way likely to draw the ire of the outside world.

In Grizzop’s case, that involved fleeing the city.

He couldn’t remember that first night, only the morning after, waking up in Eva’s arms, confused and sore, the dawn filtering through the forest canopy as she carried him through the early morning fog. He made a sound - it would have been a question, but his mouth was dry and sticky, and he didn’t know what to ask, anyway.

It wasn’t until Eva stopped moving that Grizzop realized she had been running. She knelt, lowering him to the ground and holding him steady, passing him her waterskin. She frowned at him, a seriousness in her eyes that Grizzop only rarely saw there. “Drink,” she said. He drank, waiting for her to speak.

When she didn’t, he began to fidget. “What happened?” he asked eventually, because that came the closest, to articulating the roiling unease beneath his skin. His bones hurt, not like they’d been broken but...some other way. He couldn’t place it. It was like nothing he’d felt before.

Eva let out a breath, eyeing him for a long moment. Grizzop struggled for patience; Eva was usually so much better about this than other humans. He didn’t like to rush her. “We taught you,” she said eventually, “about the touch of Artemis?”

A suspicion took root in Grizzop’s stomach. “Yeah,” he said. “You mean like...” He held up his hand, hooking his fingers into claws, bared his teeth in a half-hearted snarl.

Eva smiled grimly. “Yes,” she said. “Just like that.”

She lapsed back into silence. Grizzop took another sip of water, heart hammering in his chest. The forest seemed very loud. He could hear the last of the night birds settling away in their nests; songbirds came to life, trilling with the rising sun; somewhere in the underbrush was a rabbit, cleaning its ears. “What happens next, then?” he asked. He realized he was shivering, though he wasn’t particularly cold. “You said - at the temple they told us - ”

“They might not kill you,” Eva said quietly. “If I promised to keep you locked safely away.”

Bile rose in Grizzop’s throat. Once, years ago, when he was still young, he had met one of Apollo’s chosen. Her eyes were hidden away behind linens, and he and the other acolytes had whispered theories about what they looked like. If they had been burned out of her skull by her lord’s gift of prophecy; if her temple had taken them from her to appease the dragons. He remembered she had worn heavy bindings around her wrists, and that Eline had told them, later, that they were anti-magic shackles, meant to keep the touch of Apollo from consuming her.

“W-would you - would you have to tie me up?” Grizzop asked, throat tight. “Would I be able to hunt?”

Eva grasped his shoulders, and Grizzop bit at his lip, aware and ashamed of the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “Nobody knows,” Eva said urgently. “No one but me. Grizzop.” She took a shuddering breath. “Run,” she said firmly. “I will tell them all you’ve gone early, to attend your duties as a paladin.”

“Go where?” He hated the tremor that ran through his voice, the childish note of terror he couldn’t choke back. “I don’t know how - ”

Eva pulled him into a fierce hug, and Grizzop clutched at her shoulders, breathing hard through a wave of panic. “Our Lady has chosen you,” she whispered. “Let her guide you.”

And that, somehow, sliced through the panic like a scalpel through diseased flesh, and Grizzop let out a breath, fear and illness bleeding out of him. “Will I see you again?” he asked.

“You will,” Eva said immediately. She pulled back and smiled; her face was damp. It made Grizzop feel slightly better about his own tears. Eva thumbed at his cheek. “Come now, you’ve been talking about leaving for months,” she said, and the grimness had mostly left her, a note of fond amusement in her tone. “Cold feet now?”

Grizzop steeled himself. “No,” he said. He straightened, rubbing roughly at his eyes. “May your aim be true, Eva van Dijk.”

“And yours, Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam.” She slung a pack off her shoulder and handed him his bow. “You’ll have to hunt for food, but I managed to pack a few things for you. Stick to the woods for a few days, lie low. Try - try to get in touch, when it’s safe. A few towns out.”

Grizzop nodded as he armed himself. The ache in his bones was back now, but somehow it hurt less. Somehow it felt like a pull, an urge to move, family to but distinct from his own usual impatience. “I’ll - I’ll write. Thank you.” He hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other. “For everything. For...for not telling.”

Eva nodded solemnly. “This is...” She trailed off, frowning, casting a glance around the forest as if she expected to be overheard. “They call it a curse. I don’t believe that,” she said, simply, plainly. “Now go.”

And Grizzop nodded, and turned, and went.


	2. Chapter 2

Zolf disliked a lot of things about his job, and chief among them was Oscar Wilde. So when he returned from an arduous and unsuccessful night out to see his meritocratic counterpart waiting for him, he wondered for a moment if he could get away with pretending not to see him, decided that the aggressively lilac jacket he was sporting meant probably not, and sighed heavily before trudging up to him without bothering to hide the scowl on his face. “Wilde,” he said gruffly, leaning heavily on his trident. “What are you here for.”

Wilde graced him with one of his most winning smiles, and Zolf met it with flat indifference. “Lovely to see you as always, Mr. Smith. I’m afraid there’s no time for your pleasantries, unfortunately.” Zolf considered walking away; over Wilde’s shoulder, he caught the disapproving eye of a high priest and forced himself to settle. “Our esteemed employers have a new assignment for us.”

Zolf sighed. “Old one’s not finished yet,” he grumbled.

“New one’s more important,” Wilde said.

Zolf frowned. “There’s still half a band of maenads on the loose - ” he began, but Wilde shook his head.

“You are being reassigned, and perhaps it would be for the best if we discussed the details of this new hunt somewhere more private?” He arched one elegant eyebrow. “Your rooms, perhaps?”

“Oh for - yes, fine, whatever.” He stomped past Wilde, glaring straight ahead so he wouldn’t have to see the smug expression on his face.

His quarters in the temple were modest, even for an acolyte of Poseidon. Technically he was high ranking enough as a hunter that he could request to be moved; he hadn’t yet and had no intentions of doing so. He leaned his trident against a wall and grumped over to the stove to set water to boil, gesturing broadly towards his small living space. “Make yourself at home, not that you’ve ever needed my permission before,” he said. When he turned around, Wilde had already draped himself across an armchair, legs hooked over the side. Zolf regarded him flatly. “Mind explaining,” he said, slow and carefully polite, “why exactly we’re being reassigned in the middle of a hunt? Maenads - ”

Wilde waved a dismissive hand. “Maenads are dangerous, yes, but it’s Dionysus, Zolf, it’s practically expected for a few of his followers to lose their minds this time of year.”

“There were twenty of them, and they’ve killed four people,” Zolf said.

“And you’ve killed eleven of them,” Wilde said with a smile. “And your _most_ esteemed colleagues will surely pick up where you left off admirably enough, don’t you think? You and I, Mr. Smith, have bigger things to worry about.”

“Bigger than a gaggle of maenads.”

“Is ‘gaggle’ the official collective noun for a group of maenads? You’d think I’d know that, and yet - ”

“Wilde,” Zolf said through his teeth. Behind him, the kettle, apparently in possession of a sense of comedic timing, whistled. He shoved it unceremoniously off the heat. “Why are you _here?”_

“You’re familiar with lycanthropy, yes?” Zolf paused in retrieving a mug, glancing over his shoulder to see if Wilde were kidding. He was, for once, straight-faced. Zolf nodded. “Our employers have reason to believe we have an ill-behaved pup on our hands,” Wilde said, shifting to plant his feet on the ground, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“A werewolf,” Zolf said, just to confirm they were both on the same page. Wilde nodded once, eyebrows lifting like he was excited about the prospect. He very well might have been - wasn’t like he was going anywhere near it. “And what do the Artemis people have to say about it?” Zolf asked, turning back to his tea kettle.

“Well, that’s just the thing,” Wilde said, leaning back and lounging again. “They haven’t said anything.”

Zolf waited for Wilde to elaborate. When he didn’t, he rolled his eyes, heaved a sigh, and said theatrically, “Gracious, how strange!”

“Quite,” Wilde agreed. “Thank you,” he added as Zolf passed him a cup of tea. “I’m not sure which possibility is worse, really,” he mused, “that someone outside the officially sanctioned temple has been touched by a goddess, or that someone is keeping things from us.”

“First one hardly seems likely,” Zolf grumbled, sitting down and stretching out his wooden leg. “Rare enough getting someone marinated in their cults god-touched, can’t imagine someone on the outside getting that sort of attention.”

“You’d know better than I,” Wilde said. “That does leave the question of someone lying to the meritocrats.”

“Maybe nobody knows,” Zolf said, staring down into his own mug. “Artemis lot, they’ve got their loners. One goes off on their” - he waved a hand in a vague, all-encompassing gesture - “turns wolf, never comes back. Nobody would know. Maybe someone would think they’re dead.”

“How optimistic of you, Mr. Smith.”

Zolf snorted. “Can’t imagine why someone’d wanna cover this up, is all,” he said. “Doesn’t seem worth it.”

Wilde hummed, staring into the depth of his teacup, a faraway look in his eyes. “Well,” he said after a pause, glancing at Zolf and smiling sharp and bright, “it’s reassuring, at least, to know we don’t have to worry about any cover ups on your end, Mr. Smith.”

* * *

Grizzop tended to avoid cities, when he could. There were smaller villages more in need of his help and closer to the wilderness to boot, but it had been a few months since he’d written to Eva or Vesseek, and in spite of himself, he was lonely. The moon was vanishingly slim and would be gone in two nights’ time; he could afford a day or two in the temple before heading out again.

He sensed danger before he saw it and dipped casually into the mouth of an alleyway, leaning up against the brick walls and pretending to be very absorbed in his map. The hunter reeked of old blood and salt water and ensnaring magic; his garish companion smelled softer, ink and the vanilla of old parchment, but there was the tang of blood about him, too, and magic of his own. Grizzop watched them over his map as they left the temple of Artemis, his ear tilting in their direction to try and pick up on their conversation.

“...head out tomorrow,” the hunter was saying, voice low and rumbling. “Meet up in a few days to compare notes?”

“Of course, Mr. Smith,” his companion said. “Do be safe out there. Would hate to break in a new partner after all this time.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Smith grumbled, and then they vanished into the crowd. Grizzop slipped from his hiding place and scented the air a moment, catching the last scraps of their scents before they disippated into the air, committing them to memory.

It was never a good idea to stay too long in a place with hunters around. He would have to leave earlier than he’d planned and, he mused, make sure not to head out in the same direction as Smith. He frowned, sniffing once more at the air, but their scents had melted away into the background noise of the city; he sighed and darted across the street and into the temple.


	3. Chapter 3

“No, sir, can’t say I’ve seen anything of the sort.”

“You’re sure?” Zolf asked, a little more irritably than he might have earlier in the morning. “Nothing you brushed off as wild animals or anything?”

It had been spitting rain since he had left the temple, the sky dreary and dark and refusing to open for a proper storm. Nobody he had spoken to had seen any sign of Wilde’s lycanthrope. Zolf was starting to consider marching back into town, hunting down Wilde, and demanding to know if he’d been sent on a fool’s errand - or at least to know who his sources were.

The gnome Zolf was speaking to - diminutive even for a gnome, peering at him from underneath a straw hat at least two times too big for them - took his snappishness in better-natured stride than he perhaps deserved, leaning back and rubbing their chin in apparent thought. “Pretty sure,” they said. “It’s been quiet here, lately. You’re the first person I’ve seen pass through in, oh, two weeks?”

Zolf, in the middle of tugging his cloak tighter around himself, paused and did some quick mental calculations. “Two weeks?” he asked. “Before or after the full moon?”

The clerics at the temple had been reluctant to speak to Zolf until Wilde had swanned in, all charm and sparkle, and even then they had been reserved with what details they gave. Still, from what they _had_ told them, the moon phases would likely have a pull on any feral werewolf they might be looking for. “It doesn’t always,” one of the older clerics had said. “Not if they are...controlled, properly. But if the one you’re hunting has been running wild, your best chance is to find it during a new moon. It will be ferocious when the moon is full - untamed, unreasonable, a mindless beast.”

The gnome squinted up at the sky, counting quietly, then shrugged. “Can’t remember,” they said. “Was just after I made my delivery to the inn, I remember because I didn’t have much leftover to sell to him - ”

“Could you describe him?” Zolf asked. It was a thin lead, but it was something, at least.

“Oh, yes,” said the gnome. “Big fella, he was, real tall. Said he was a paladin of Artemis, can’t recall his name... Handsome, too, I think, been a bit since I’ve been with a goblin, but - ”

“Wait,” Zolf said. He blinked, discarded that last bit of information with a brisk shake of his head, and asked, “You said he was a goblin?” The gnome nodded, and Zolf’s mental image of a hairy, hulking brute of a lycanthrope rearranged itself. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “How tall could he have _been?”_ The gnome held an arm up above their head, going up on tiptoe, waving their hand vaguely. Zolf sighed again, deeper. “All right,” he grumbled. “Fine. Tell me everything you remember about him, if you don’t mind.”

* * *

Wilde knew Zolf hated this part of investigations, which was why, usually, he did it himself. The problem was, this time, that information was so scarce, and time so of the essence, that there was little he could do without his partner’s assistance.

It was probably futile to hope Zolf was having an easier time than he was, but Wilde did so anyway. He fixed the woman in front of him with as charming a smile as he could muster, though he could feel it starting to grow strained at the edges as they spoke in circles again. “I understand,” he said, “if you aren’t comfortable giving me a list of every pilgrim who’s come through your doors - ”

“There isn’t a list to give you,” the woman said, meeting Wilde’s glamour with flat indifference. “We told you that when you were here yesterday with your...bounty hunter.”

Wilde bit back a retort and waved a dismissive hand. “Yes,” he said, “I understand. But surely if there were someone who greeted everyone who came through your doors, they could give me a cursory description of anyone new?”

The woman blinked at him. “I imagine they could.”

“So,” Wilde said, heartened that they seemed to be getting somewhere. “Would it be possible for me to - ”

“No,” the woman said. “We don’t have greeters. We don’t have a list. People come and go as they require.”

Wilde, internally, burst into a snarling fit of frustration. Externally, he sighed minutely. “If someone were to cause trouble,” he began, and the woman arched an eyebrow, shifting so that the longbow strapped to her back came more clearly into view. “Of course,” Wilde said. “But they would stand out, wouldn’t they?”

“If someone did, yes,” the woman said blandly. She glanced Wilde up and down, her eyebrow arching with more severity as she took in his outfit, then met his eyes again.

Wilde opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a voice from behind the woman. “You need someone escorted out, Magra?”

The woman, for the first time, cracked a smile as Wilde bristled. “That won’t be necessary,” Wilde said. “I was just leaving.” Behind Magra, a goblin stepped forward, bedecked in the typical regalia of an Artemisian paladin, bow at his hip, red eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I haven’t seen you here before,” Wilde said.

“I move around a lot,” said the goblin. “Never seen you around before, either. Don’t look like one of us.”

“I try to keep track of the cultists in my jurisdiction,” Wilde said, and gave a bow of his head, one hand twirling out in elaborate greeting. “Oscar Wilde. Meritocratic agent. And you would be?”

The goblin huffed out a sigh. “Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam,” he said. “Paladin errant of Artemis.” He gave a mocking little bow of his own, but kept his eyes trained on Wilde’s face the whole time. “I’m already running late, if you don’t mind - ”

“Allow me to escort you,” Wilde said, falling into step beside Grizzop, who eyed him, glanced over to Magra, and continued towards the door, all in the space of a step. Wilde waved over his shoulder at Magra. “Have you been in town long, Grizzop?” he asked as they stepped out into the sunlight.

“Nope,” Grizzop said shortly, and didn’t offer any more in the way on conversation. His ears were held straight up and quivered, slightly.

“Is there somewhere in particular you’re headed?” Wilde asked. Grizzop shook his head and hummed, glancing around the street as they walked. “It’s just you seem to be in a hurry.”

Grizzop stopped abruptly, turning on his heel to glare up at Wilde, head tilted, ears swiveling. “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is this an interrogation or something?”

“Not an interrogation,” Wilde said, holding up a hand. “Though perhaps you can help me, if you’ve been on the road.”

Grizzop’s lips pulled into the flash of a snarl, brief and small. “With what?” he asked.

“You see, there’s a particular monster I’m attempting to track down,” Wilde said, watching Grizzop’s face carefully. “A werewolf.”

Grizzop snorted. “I don’t spend time at the temples,” he said, turning and starting down the street again. “Wouldn’t know anything about one.”

“Well that’s the problem,” Wilde said, catching up easily with his longer strides. “It isn’t in a temple. It’s loose.”

“Then I’ll shoot it if I see it,” Grizzop said. They had reached the outskirts of the city, and Grizzop hoisted his pack higher on his shoulder. “Goodbye, Oscar Wilde.”

Wilde watched him go, frowning. “Is unhelpfulness a tenant of Artemis?” he said to no one in particular, turning to retrace his steps back towards the city center. “Even Zolf isn’t that bad.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the updated tags! Also content note for harm to an animal in this chapter.

Oscar Wilde’s scent clung to Grizzop’s clothes like a miasma, all soft and sweet layered over the subtler scents of meritocratic magic. Grizzop hated it enough that when he saw a sign for an inn, a day’s walk south of the city, he started up the dirt path towards it. That was rare enough on its own, never mind with hunters potentially out looking for him. Then again, in Grizzop’s experience, hunters were too dogmatic to be particularly clever - he doubted it would even cross their minds that a werewolf might want a bath and a soft bed for the night.

When he reached the top of the slight hill where the inn was situated, he was greeted with a bloodbath. The front door had been ripped from its hinges, revealing an entry hall so caked in gore it was enough to bring bile to Grizzop’s throat, and he was hardly some unseasoned pup. The head of some unfortunate soul was dripping on the mantle; the carpets were wet with blood that smelled at least a few days old; viscera was smeared across the walls, bloody handprints marking the places where someone had tried to claw their way to freedom.

Grizzop drew his bow; a hand closed around his bicep and he was yanked backwards. He snarled, spinning on his heel, swinging his weapon up; a pale, scrawny human woman shushed him furiously and tugged him towards a garden shed across the courtyard. Grizzop followed but kept his bow drawn.

Inside, the woman locked and barred the door, peering through the small window towards the inn. She was, Grizzop realized, clutching a pair of garden shears. “Oi,” Grizzop said, more softly than he might have normally. “What the hell happened here?”

The woman glanced over at him, a frown between her brows. “I didn’t do it,” she said.

Grizzop blinked. “I didn’t think you did,” he said.

“They, uh - it was night,” the woman pressed on, looking out the window at the open doorway again. “Everyone was asleep, I guess, and they just.” She gestured with the shears. “I snuck away, right, but they keep looking for me.” She glanced over at Grizzop again, and her frown became calculating. “You a hunter?” she asked.

“I’m a paladin of Artemis,” Grizzop replied. “I can help.”

The woman glanced out the window again, arching an eyebrow. “They killed the hunter from Poseidon,” she said. “That’s his head.”

Grizzop winced. “All right,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’ll make sure to learn from his mistakes, then.”

The woman looked at him, then out the window, then down at him again. “You’re not gonna go in alone, are you?” she asked incredulously. “Aren’t hunters supposed to have, like, partners or something?”

“Wasn’t exactly planning on finding a murder house on my travels,” Grizzop said blandly. “Look, do you want my help or not?”

The woman eyed him up and down, then finally shrugged. “Yeah,” she said, “sure. I can help you sneak in through the back, I uh - worked in the kitchen...yeah.”

Grizzop let the lie slide. “All right,” he said, hefting his bow and grinning. “Let’s do it.”

* * *

The goblin was the closest thing to a lead either of them had managed to find, so Wilde summoned a carriage and they set off after him. He had a few days’ worth of a lead on them, but as long as he was travelling by foot, they would catch up before the full moon - unless, Zolf pointed out, he did as followers of Artemis were wont to do, and strayed from the beaten path into the wilderness.

“And if he does that,” Wilde said as the carriage rattled along, “then I’m sure we will notice if there’s a feral lycanthrope tearing through the forest towards our encampment.”

“I’d prefer not to have to deal with him while he’s feral,” Zolf grumbled. He held his trident in his lap, sharpening each point to lethal perfection.

“Better or worse than while he has his wits about him, do you think?” Wilde asked, leaning on his hand and watching out the window as the trees rolled by. “I almost think it would be a blessing to catch him during a full moon. Certainly more dramatic.”

Zolf didn’t answer, only glared across the carriage for a moment before turning back to his weapon. “Dramatic or not, I don’t want to give him the opportunity to hurt anyone else.”

Wilde was silent, a faint frown between his brows. “Hm,” he said. Then: “Zolf - ”

The carriage jolted, suddenly, cutting off whatever Wilde had been about to say; they braced themselves as it spun to a sudden halt. Zolf hoisted himself out the window, trident ready, then ducked back inside and gestured for Wilde to follow him.

Outside, their driver and his horse were dead. The driver’s throat had been slit; the horse had nearly been ripped in half. Zolf exhaled slowly, hefting his trident; behind him, Wilde hummed, stepped delicately closer, and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “The pine tree,” he said musically, “on the right.”

Zolf spun and hefted his trident and caught and flung the creature that burst, screaming, from the underbrush. She crashed into the side of the carriage, howling - fawn and fox, serpent and ox, her body twisted by capricious magic. She reeked of wine and blood. Wilde, still humming, swung gracefully into place behind Zolf and singsonged, “She’s alone.”

“Good,” Zolf growled, and brought up his trident again as she pounced. Wilde box-stepped out of the way as Zolf staggered backwards, all the maenad’s weight and height bearing down on him. Behind her, Wilde’s voice changed pitch, and suddenly she shrieked, rearing up off Zolf, blood dripping from her nose. She turned on Wilde; Zolf surged forward and skewered her; Wilde watched her collapse with a vaguely curious expression on his face.

“I suppose there was no saving her,” he said. He didn’t sound particularly troubled about her fate, but Zolf huffed irritably anyway.

“No,” he said shortly. He nudged at her with the end of his trident. “Too far gone.”

“Yes, well,” Wilde said, surveying the carnage around them. “This is going to be a mess to explain,” he sighed. “I - ”

Zolf snagged him around the waist and yanked him backwards just as a second maenad barreled towards the road. They landed in an awkward heap, and for a moment Zolf was convinced they were going to be torn to pieces before he could get his weapon up again. The maenad screamed, but it wasn’t a battle cry - there were two solid thuds, and Zolf watched her fall, riddled with arrows. He looked up; a goblin, presumably the very one they were tracking, nodded at him.

“Wotcher,” the goblin said, then, “Oh, it’s _you_ again?”

Wilde hoisted himself off of Zolf, snapping his fingers to magic himself presentable, brushing at already vanished dirt on his sleeves. “What a coincidence,” he said. “But a welcome one, given the circumstances. This is my partner, Zolf Smith. Zolf, this is - ”

“Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam,” Grizzop said, giving a lazy salute.

“ - the paladin of Artemis I was telling you about,” Wilde finished.

“Pleasure,” Zolf grunted, sitting up. “Don’t suppose there’s more of these about?” he asked, gesturing at the dead maenads in the road.

“Those were the last two,” Grizzop said. “But they left a right mess at the inn. Killed the last hunter who tried to take ‘em on, poor sap.”

Wilde let out a sigh, rubbing at his eyes, but Zolf staggered to his feet, frowning. “At the inn?” he said. _“Who_ did they kill?”

“Just about everyone,” Grizzop said. “Just one of the kitchen maids left. Uh,” he added, eyes flickering over Zolf’s trident, embarrassed realization dawning on his face. “You - you’re with Poseidon? You, uh. Might want to...well.” He glanced awkwardly at Wilde.

“You can wait here, if you like, Zolf,” Wilde said, quietly enough that Grizzop wouldn’t overhear. The goblin had turned politely away while they spoke, examining his bow. “I certainly wouldn’t - ”

“No,” Zolf grumbled. “No, it’s fine. You want to show us what’s happened?” he called the Grizzop.

Grizzop looked up. “It’s just up the hill,” he said, a bit cagey. “I don’t...”

“We’ll need to ask you a few questions,” Wilde said, doing an admirable job of sounding apologetic. “And besides, perhaps that kitchen maid would prefer to have a familiar face around?”

Grizzop sighed. “Yeah, fine,” he said. “Come on, then.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I had fun this October, but I'm happy to have some time freed up now that I don't have to write every day.  
> Also Me: ....anyway time to start a new multi-chapter story,


End file.
